


an answer you won't find in your grave

by impossiblesongs



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Catholic Rosary, Hugs, M/M, Marcus is back but Tomas still has abandonment issues, Mutual Pining, there's blood and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 16:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblesongs/pseuds/impossiblesongs
Summary: Then there's the red. Dotted on Marcus's jumper like an inkblot picture and it doesn't fit, it's not right, until it does. It's quite hard to make out blood, especially with the black of Tomas's shirt, only it's sticking to him in a way that it can't be anything else.





	an answer you won't find in your grave

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my characters. This has been a disclaimer. 
> 
> AN: I've been wanting to write for this fandom for a long, long, long time. I've just never had an idea. [THIS POST](http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/170560564905) happened, and gee. That sure got the idea going. Mistakes are my own, my apologies. 
> 
> Title of the fic from The Pretty Reckless's song "Absolution"

It feels a long time coming, this one. There's been a few moments thrown in between where even Marcus wasn't entirely sure they'd get there, that they wouldn't lose the host to integration or compromise themselves. And the demon was a nasty bugger, violent down to the bone, blatantly willing to take either of them along with it. To be honest, there's a heady bit of miraculous to this one. The feeling to the whole thing, when all is said and done, is almost as if it's never happened before. Like the way they get to the next job _isn't_ by winning. There's a hush around the room, a stillness, when the woman possessed has taken leave, demon obliterated to dust. A preservation of the sacred moments thereafter where Tomas looks to him for confirmation. Marcus nods and Tomas' eyes permit themselves to slide shut, in prayer, in thanks, in gracious and humble relief.

 

Every victory since his return, Tomas back by his side, and Marcus finds himself holding his breath. It's not that he has no faith or certainty that God is with them, it's that it's Tomas that God is handling. It's a thing he's had to get used to, swallow down and keep out of the work, but Marcus is only human after all. Maybe he worries, so what? So long as he doesn't let the worry overrule, he's fine.

 

Perhaps this time isn't just him though. Whatever it is about this case it must be catching because staring at Tomas he can see the disbelief written plain on his face, too. This hazed, blissed out relief that's been dropped unto their shoulders, bearing down at them much like a cross would; the unanimous truth of their worth, this gift, that God finds them worthy to wield in His name. And His touch is overwhelming and terrifying and blessedly pure, and so many other things to name, so many emotions going through in the moment that Marcus scarcely pulls himself together.

 

He's moving before he really registers it, feet making too much noise as he lurches across the room, crushing Tomas in an embrace brought on from the exhilaration of a battle won pumping in his veins. Tomas is silent as the grave, accepting the embrace without a second thought. Molding into Marcus's body where he seems to fit, hands seeking out of their own will, grasping and holding Marcus to him with the same necessity in turn; palms pressed flat and fond and lingering. And Marcus breathes Tomas in, tries to calm the nerves in his blood and the _almosts_ and the _would have_ s that sprout up in the name of fear. The lump in his throat turns worrisome the longer Tomas holds onto him and the tears in his eyes burn. Tomas's hand lies confident and flat against his spine, tracing up a calming gesture when it moves up and down, consoling as if to say _all is well, my friend, all is well_.

 

But it's the eventual pull, isn't it? Be it gravity or plain good sense and propriety which entitles actions be put to motion, that prompts Marcus's arms to relinquish that iron hold he's got around Tomas, his tether, the one he cannot bare to rid himself of; Tomas close and kept in his arms. There always comes the time to disentangle and to let go.

 

Marcus tries very hard to ignore how very much he hates those moments, the ones that come sudden and stark, after. The loss of warmth and touch for start; they're too much opposite to home, too much he's been starved of and so he _craves_. He's given this and more for God and yet for Tomas there's so much Marcus would take, would do. It's become completely soul ravaging - to want, this way. So he extricates himself from Tomas, chastising himself yet basking in the glory he has found waiting for him in Tomas's arms. He looks down. 

 

Then there's the red. Dotted on Marcus's jumper like an inkblot picture and it doesn't fit, it's not right, until it does. It's quite hard to make out blood, especially with the black of Tomas's shirt, only it's sticking to him in a way that it can't be anything else. Marcus's eyes are lightning quick, glancing from Tomas's abdomen up into his warm brown eyes. In alarm, in question. Hand already caressing the side of Tomas's neck, which Tomas leans into rather helplessly.

 

Tomas swallows first, licks his lips, and a soft, "Oops," tumbles on out. His legs give and he stumbles and Marcus's heart expeditiously cracks wide open.

 

"No. No, no, no, no," Marcus finds himself on his knees again, handful of Tomas rather than the surety of his hands clasped and the Lord's prayer. His eyes are tearing up, desperate and damned, yet he glances to the floor around them, trying to find it. Find the piece that's missing. The _reason_.

 

Oh. _Oh_.

 

It's Tomas's Rosary. Well, rather it used to be Marcus's. He gave it to Tomas when he came back. Half an apology for leaving him with Mouse, half a talisman of the utter devotion Marcus was owning up to, however unsaid aloud that devotion actually was.

 

The cross on the Rosary isn't the sharpest thing however throughout the years it's been well cared for, Marcus made sure of that. It's a piece of silver covered in Tomas's blood a few feet away now.

 

"God no," Marcus cries, returns his gaze to Tomas's face, holds Tomas more securely in his arms. "How long have you been bleeding?"

 

Tomas gives a grimace, face so pale now that Marcus looks at it closer, and then Tomas is smirking. Or trying to. He attempts a shrug in Marcus's arms and doesn't quite succeed. "Nightfall maybe," Tomas utters, the blood on his tongue very slowly painting his lips red.

 

"That's hours!" Marcus barks out angrily, cutting off from the tirade he wants to go off on, knowing far too well what this information means, what the hours of blood loss amount. A tiny stab is _still_ a _stab_. _Damn you_ wants to slip out, but even he isn't going to push it.

 

Instead Marcus maneuvers Tomas onto his back and crowds closer, moves until his face is but inches above from Tomas and the other man can see him clearly. "If you die on me," Marcus says, precisely, "I'm leaving you with Mouse again. _Forever_."

 

Marcus knows that makes no sense at all and it's completely without point logically. In fact it makes no sense to anyone but Tomas, whose eyes suddenly widen a fraction, seemingly filling with a renewed effort to staying conscious that there hadn't been a moment ago. 

 

Now, Marcus isn't as young as he used to be, but he intends to scoop Tomas up in his arms bridal-style nonetheless and get him seen to. Tomas registers this and makes a pitiful effort to reach over for the cross Marcus had gifted him upon his return, the one covered in his own blood, and Marcus swears. Thinking _Damn us_ , and rather finds there really is no other explanation for it.

 

He moves over to scoop up the bloody thing and roughly shoves it in his jeans before pulling Tomas's arm around his neck with as much care as he can, sliding his arms to grasp proper hold at his back and the space underneath Tomas's knees. Once securely held, with one deep breath, he's lifting Tomas up.

 

 

x

 

 

 

"You know, don't you?" Tomas says, after. When the nurses have bandaged him up at the hospital and Marcus sits on the chair at his bedside, exhausted and nearer to breaking down than anyone at first glance would reckon.

 

"Know what?" Marcus huffs, blinking to help keep his eyes open. 

 

"You knew that would scare the death from me, saying what you said. That's why you said it, right? That's the only reason?"

 

Tomas's eyes, they're dark but drawn. Insecurity and _hurt_ prevalent of the various expressions making lines appear on his youthful, unblemished forehead. It twists something inside Marcus, the honest to God trepidation that exists there now, for different reasons than the ones Tomas started out with. It's not a chip on his shoulder he's fueling off anymore, it's fear. The fear Marcus planted there himself by up and leaving. 

 

The room is silent for a moment. Marcus needing to take care with words, with a heart he won't carelessly handle. Not again. He's never particularly been any good with facing up to what he meant to someone, nor work it out. How such a thing was even possible. But there Tomas sits, bloodied and open and asking. Asking for Marcus's reassurance. 

 

_Would he accept my love instead?_

 

Marcus expels the thought soon as it comes, blaming it on the weariness of the hour. 

 

"M'afraid not even God could tear me from your side now, Tomas." Marcus answers tiredly, and he thinks he should feel shame. At least a touch of retribution, surely? But then Tomas is looking at him, eyes gone all warm and fond, enveloping him like only God can and Marcus feels the tip of his mouth slanting, then a bashful quirk. "Don't let it be going to your head," he adds, "even I couldn't absolve you now."

 

Light as his tone is, the reminder still smarts a tinge. Marcus reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bloodied Rosary. He observes it silently before tossing it over at Tomas. 

 

Tomas catches it with both hands and brings it up to his lips, kissing it, like it's something to cherish. Old and tattered as it is.

 

Marcus wishes. 


End file.
